


Batman: Is it Working?

by iammemyself



Series: Arkhamverse [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Knight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammemyself/pseuds/iammemyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his return from what seemed to be the grave, Jonathan is unsure where he and Edward stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batman: Is it Working?

Batman: Is it Working?

Indiana

Characters: Scarecrow, Riddler [Arkhamverse, Scriddler]

Synopsis: After his return from what seemed to be the grave, Jonathan is unsure where he and Edward stand.

 

 

"I know what you're doing, Crane.  You're appealing to my ego."

"Is it working?"

Edward's jaw bunched as he glared across the room.  Jonathan's vision was no longer the best, but that didn't stop him from noting the drastic changes in the younger man.  It had been a few months since last they met; exactly how many Jonathan was unsure.  They had had correspondence, some of it emails but most of it over the phone.  He had been asking Edward for technical things now and again, essential arrangements for his final act of vengeance over the Bat and the city that had left him for dead, and only now had Jonathan decided it was time for them to meet in person.  He had his reasons for this, though he was uncertain whether they would hold water for Edward.  He could be volatile with the truths he decided to accept on any given day.

It had been too many months, by the looks of it.  Edward was marked with green and white paint, his hair seemingly held back more with dried sweat than any product he might have used.  Clothes Jonathan would never have thought he'd given a first, let alone a second, glance hung on a frame which he had clearly been neglecting for a long time.  His glasses were plain, more of an essential afterthought than anything else.  And all of those things were of some concern indeed, though they were not tantamount in Jonathan’s mind.  They were all matters of Edward’s aesthetic, and though he was a vain man who usually took his appearance extremely seriously, these changes were easily reversible when the time was right.  It was his eyes that made Jonathan truly wary: the raw intelligence he’d known and admired had altered, blatantly given way to something… wilder.  Edward was no longer the master of his whims; they were now at the helm. 

Where stood they now?  Jonathan didn’t know.  They had been building something before the… _incident_ at the Asylum, and the both of them had been quite content to allow it to do so.  At the time.  Now Edward’s stare gleamed with paranoia, even as Jonathan wondered if a man so notably different could be trusted.  Edward had changed, when Jonathan needed him to be the same.  All he asked for was one person he could trust.  Edward had been that person, once. 

Jonathan needed him to be, moreso than he wanted to understand just then.

Jonathan reached across the table beside him, some faintly worn construction of an office long since unused, and shut off the recorder. 

"Why have that on in the first place?" Edward demanded immediately.  "Trying to blackmail me, are we?"

"Not at all," Jonathan said as smoothly as he could, though every word now stung his throat.  "There are people who can't be trusted."

"And I suppose I'm one of them?"

 _Are you?_ was on Jonathan's tongue then, but that was the wrong answer.  It was a quick answer, an intuitive one, meant to plumb Edward’s temper, to push him, but no.  No, it wasn’t the time for that.  Nor had it ever been, really.

“No,” Jonathan answered instead.  “But everyone must appear to be on equal ground.  I can play no favourites.  Not even with you.”

“Mmhm.  That’s why you turned that thing off.”

Jonathan folded his hands together in front of him.  God, somehow he’d forgotten how exasperating Edward could be.  He always did.  Navigating the minefield that was his mind was onerous, and one never got through it without a few setbacks.  “I had enough to placate anyone who feels the need to enquire into things that have nothing to do with them.”

“Fine.  What did you want.  Something more than a casual visit, judging by your desire for urgency.”  He folded his arms together.  They were marred with several cuts that looked markedly uncared for.  He wasn’t giving.  That was not a good sign. 

“I have technical things that need doing, and you’re the only one I trust to take care of them.”

He did his best to sound sincere.  He was trying to be.  At the very least, he needed the injector gauntlet rebuilt;              he’d repaired the old one to the best of his ability, but it was just as ravaged as everything else had been.  All of the needles had snapped off upon their desperate contact with those unforgiving scales.  Though it was useless, he felt better having it.  There was too much damage control to be done for him to risk leaving it aside.  It really was something he should have had done a long time ago, but other things had had to be prioritised.

Edward remained unconvinced, his lips pressed together in dissatisfaction.  “I see.”

Irritation began to creep up the back of his spine, but he forced himself to remain still even though a simultaneous ache began to crawl up his leg from its origin point somewhere between his left ankle and knee.  He wasn’t sure which it was.  He’d never bothered to find out; after the brace had been built he’d put the injury out of his mind as often as possible.  “You will be compensated.  I’m not asking for favours this time.”

That earned him a disgusted eyeroll.  He should have expected that; how was Edward to guess that Jonathan would never be so insulting as to compensate him monetarily?  “That’s not what I’m getting at.”

“Would you mind being direct about it, for once?  I haven’t the patience for your circular thinking today.”  He’d _thought_ Edward would give him an easier time than this, but it seemed not.  It seemed he was going to have to negotiate him into submission like everyone else.  Disappointing.  In several ways.

“You never used to wear the mask with me.”

He’d forgotten… no, not quite.  He hadn’t _wanted_ to think about that.  “ _That’s_ what’s bothering you?”  He tried to tease, to redirect things back to a more professional place, but Edward remained displeased. 

“You’re making it sound like that isn’t important.”  His eyes were now obscured by the smudged lenses perched across his nose.

“There isn’t time for that now,” Jonathan pressed.  “I’ve already told you, Edward.  This will be the end of it.  The Bat _will_ pay for what he did to me, and he _will_ die at my hand.  But I need your help.  You know that.  I would appreciate if you would just _give_ it to me for _once_!”

Edward threw up his hands.  “You’re right.  Because I haven’t been doing a damn thing all this time.  You’d still be stuck on that boat if it weren’t for me, Jonathan.  Don’t you forget that.”

A chill settled over Jonathan.  “You’re using that as barter now, is it?”

“No.  I’m merely reminding you of just _one_ of the things I did for you when I really didn’t have to.”

“Fine.”  Jonathan turned away, pressing his fingertips into the table.  “Take your leave, then.  I’ll find someone _else_ of the technical prowess required.  I have no more need of you.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m getting at!” Edward shouted.  “You keep bringing me back and asking for help with all the little parts of your grand plan – which I’m not privy to the details of, despite being instrumental in carrying it out – and then when you’re done with me, you cut me off.  I’m _tired_ of being the cog in your machine, Jonathan.  I have my own things to do, which you doubtless know, and yet every time you call I’m supposed to come running and do your dirty work for you just like everyone else.  I thought I was _better_ than everyone else!”

“You are,” Jonathan said. 

“Am I?  I’m not very confident of that right now.”

“There was a reason I… suggested you build the deathtraps underground, Edward.  It was out of interest for your well-being.”  He hadn’t wanted to get into any of this until _after_.  He’d wanted to remain focused, without distraction, until the plan had succeeded and the Bat was dead.  But Edward couldn’t wait.  Edward was impatient, and he needed answers, and though doubtless he’d searched Jonathan had left a bare few for him to find.  He had to play this all quiet and smart, and that was best done alone.  But Edward was Edward, and not much could be done about that.  Nor would Jonathan have done anything if he could have.

“Well _that’s_ a relief,” Edward remarked sarcastically.  “I was beginning to think perhaps you’d had me build all of those in the hopes I’d give up and bury myself in one of them!”

It was tempting, just then, but no.  “The plan involves a very powerful toxin, which will almost instantly overwhelm once inhaled.  It has a physical ceiling as yet undetermined, and will not penetrate below ground level.  There was no possible way for you to build all of your traps at a height I do not yet have to give you, and so I told you to build below ground.”  He chanced meeting Edward’s eyes.  “You are the _only_ one I’ve told any such thing.”

Edward’s hands gripped each other with force.  “You would set such a thing off without telling me?”

Jonathan shook his head.  “Not intentionally.  But you know that things do not always go according to plan.  Just because I have not told you certain things outright does not mean I’ve been taking you for granted.”

"I was beginning to feel as though you were," Edward said, though not in a self-pitying way like had done plenty of times in the past.  He was matter-of-fact.  Maybe a little... sad.  "Look.  I didn't do any of those things for you because I wanted a return.  But is my true reasoning based on based on something that no longer exists?  Are you going to tell me that, or are you just going to wait until you don't have to?"

"It does," Jonathan answered, though sometimes he had his doubts that anything existed in the first place.  The days they had spent amicably, sometimes working separately in silence and other times unable to tear their hands away.  He would often remember them as though he'd conjured them up himself during the long weeks of fever, and to be quite blunt he didn't want to know if he had.  He wanted their origins to be that of reality, and yet he couldn't possibly ask Edward whether they were or not.  That would be such weakness.  "If it did not I would have paid you off a long time ago, as I did everyone else.  This does not stop in Gotham, Edward.  This will spread far beyond the island and into the worlds beyond, and you are the only one whose safety is a guarantee.  Barring unforeseen difficulties, you will be called before it begins and I will keep you close.  I ask a lot of you now for unimaginable dividends later.  But you must be patient.  And you must trust me."

"I do," Edward said plainly.  "But I have my doubts as to whether I should continue to do so."

"I helped you without reservation when you were so ill with brain cancer that you could barely think!" Jonathan snapped, regretting it immediately.  Why did Edward have to be so difficult?  Jonathan needed his help and that should have been the end of it!  Why did he keep pushing, what was he even pushing _for_?  "This is how you repay me when my needs are similar?"

"You did that of your own free will.  Just as I've been doing," Edward told him, tone cold enough that Jonathan was no longer certain his trust could be regained.  "Don't try to guilt-trip me, Jonathan.  The crux of it is, I wanted to know why you insist on wearing that thing when you ask me for private meetings.  And instead of a straight answer, you keep trying to shunt me onto something else.  You're treating me like an idiot, like I don't _know_ all of your tricks by now.  I don't appreciate that, Jonathan!  Why do you keep wearing it?  Without fail you never used to.  Now you refuse to be seen without it, even by me.  Why?  What is it that's changed?"

"Especially by you," Jonathan corrected wearily.  Edward was right, of course.  He should have known he wouldn't give up on the answer he had come here for.  "Edward, you... I know you.  You like beautiful things.  I am... ruined beyond repair.  I've become on the outside what I always was within."

Only towards Edward would those words ever taste remotely so bitter.

Edward laughed.  It wasn't something Jonathan had heard in a long time.  He wished it were for another reason.

He hated this part, the part where he waited and hoped for Edward's approval and reassurance.  He didn’t know what it was about this man that made him actually _care_ about his opinion, when Jonathan had cared about very few people’s opinions over the course of his entire life.  

Edward came forward then, his gait loose and a slow smile playing over the edges of his lips.  He invited himself onto the tabletop on Jonathan’s left, hoisting himself onto it with one practiced motion and said, "You thought your appearance was the deal breaker, Jonathan?"

Jonathan didn’t answer.  Of course he knew it was ridiculous.  It was ridiculous that he wanted Edward around at all.  So many things were so much easier when you did them alone. 

Though… knowing there was one person, just one, he could count on to get things done... it was comforting, though he didn’t like to think of it that way.  He was the Master of Fear, for God’s sake, why should _he_ need _that?_

“I may be… picky, but that was never the draw in the first place,” Edward said.  “It was your _mind_.  The rest of you was just a bonus.  Come now, you couldn’t have figured that out yourself?”

All that earned him was as best a glare as Jonathan could conjure.  Edward just smiled.

“Now come up here and take that thing off.  I want to see your face.”

Jonathan obliged him without comment, though he didn’t really have a reasoning for doing so.  He had to admit, even just to himself, that any excuse to stop standing was a welcome one.  Perhaps slower than was necessary he removed his hood and slid the mask off his face.  It was painful, as were most other things, but usually he managed to forget he was wearing it.  There were many things that he needed to direct his thoughts toward during the day, and how he felt in particular was not one of them.  Right now, though, he was infuriatingly preoccupied with just what Edward’s reaction was going to be.  He had just said Jonathan’s appearance didn’t matter, and yet… Jonathan knew how people worked.  Many an implicit, subconscious bias stemmed from a person’s perceived attractiveness, or lack thereof.   How could it not matter?

Jonathan had looked at himself once and not bothered to do so again; he knew what was left of his face was heavily scarred and barely held any resemblance to him at all.  He’d never been paler in his entire life, and that was saying something, but he did not want to learn how susceptible his skin was to damage the hard way.  His health had never been a priority, but lack of caution at this point would be more in line with outright stupidity.  He did not have much health left, and he was quite aware of that.

Edward traced Jonathan’s cheekbone, more noticeable than ever, with a delicacy he remembered all too well.  Edward had always touched him like that.  With something approaching reverence.  Not only had that not changed, but Edward hadn’t flinched.  Maybe he really _didn’t_ care.  And Jonathan shouldn’t have cared either, it should have made no difference to him whether or not Edward did, but it did!  God, it did.

“He didn’t finish,” Edward noted after a minute.  The hand he wrapped around the table edge was dark with oil and spotted with yet more paint.  What wonders was he putting together now?  Jonathan would have liked to see them.  He had watched Edward build many a contraption and, while he didn’t really understand what drove him to create complicated solutions to straightforward problems, it was always simply fascinating nonetheless.

“I told him not to,” Jonathan said.  “True… repair would take years, and I was done with the waiting.  I had plans to carry out.”

“Fair enough,” Edward said, and Jonathan’s brow creased when he used the other hand, still encased in the work glove that was just as worn as the rest of him, to turn Jonathan’s head towards him.  And then Edward kissed him, the ruin of what was left, with that same reverence.  As he’d always done.

Jonathan had to consciously draw breath afterward.

“I doubt you’ll ever grace the cover of Vogue,” Edward went on, as though he’d never stopped talking, “but that was never one of your aspirations anyway.  Now, as fun as piecing together your plans from the bare scraps you’ve graced those in your employ with is, I would greatly appreciate being in on it!  I don’t want to say you can’t pull it off without me, but, you know… I _am_ cleverer than you.”

Nothing had changed.  Nothing had changed at all!  It was an untoward relief to know that.  He should have asked Edward to join him sooner.  He had delayed this meeting for a silly reason and now he had been proven irrevocably wrong.  But no matter, he told himself.  It was done, and he could not undo it.  Better to look forward.

“I know you like to think that,” Jonathan answered, though now he had no intention whatsoever of not giving him the details.  He found that large secrets were exhausting to keep, but Edward had hardly any greater love.  He only traded secrets for those of higher value, and Jonathan now had the biggest game in town.  Not that Edward would trade away anything Jonathan deemed non-negotiable; he knew that would spell the end of their trust if he did.  But despite his best efforts, his impulses on occasion got the best of him.  Sometimes Jonathan pitied him for that and sometimes he could find only disdain for such weakness.  Others, it was just one of those things that made Edward himself.  All of that taken into account, Jonathan admitted it would be a great relief to have Edward’s endorsement.  When he wasn’t burying himself in how to entwine things in those silly riddles and puzzles, he was actually quite as clever as he claimed.  “But very well.  I will indulge you the particulars.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want to.”  He rubbed absently at the spray of stubble tracing his jawline.  “You can start with this… ‘Arkham Knight’.  He’s not anyone who was ever admitted to Arkham, I know that much.  So just who is he?”

“I have no idea.”

Edward’s stare was almost able to melt steel, and if he’d been wearing a different pair of glasses he may have actually been able to.  Jonathan had forgotten whether he’d built a pair of those or not. 

“Your entire operation hinges on the good graces of some hack you don’t even have the name of?  Jonathan, I’m unsure that’s – “

“I, unlike you, don’t have the need to acquire encyclopaedic knowledge about everything under the sun,” Jonathan interrupted.  It was something Edward hated, and quite often Jonathan would let him continue on ad infinitum merely because it was amusing that he could say so much while not saying anything, but at this juncture it was necessary.  Jonathan had a scheme to relate, and Edward’s predilection for verbosity would impede the telling.  “He knows things and that’s all _I_ need to know.  And he knows Batman.  Very, very well.”

Edward folded his arms and squinted indignantly at the door he’d come through.  “And you would know that _how_?”

“I was provided a few things as proof.  You’ll verify them for me, of course.”

The frown was redirected in his direction.  “Of course.  I’ll just call up Batman right now on my personal hotline to the Batcave.  Oh, wait – I don’t think my carrier allows calls to outer space.  I – “

“The Batcave is in outer space?”

 “Of _course_ it’s not in outer space!”  Edward pressed back his hair in exasperation.  “I was _exaggerating_ the fact that you are asking me to _verify_ information _I don’t have_!”

“I know you have several Batmobile mockups, which could only be produced by someone who spent an excessive amount of time studying it and its capabilities.  I would have thought you had built your own by now.”

“Maybe I did,” Edward mumbled, tapping one of his index fingers on the opposite arm, “and maybe it turns out that Batmobiles are extremely expensive and cost more money than I’ll ever be able to siphon from the stock market.”

Jonathan almost laughed.  It would have been nice to actually have done so, but not much could be done about that.  “What you’re actually saying is that there’s a Batmobile chassis in one of those properties you obtained.”

“Of course not!” Edward protested, though much too fervently.  After a moment he said, mostly to himself, “It’s a _Riddlermobile_ chassis.”

“Of _course_ ,” Jonathan responded with as much sarcasm as possible.  “A _Riddlermobile_ chassis.  Why did I not _think_ of that?”  He put a hand on Edward’s knee to distract him, mostly because that was a reasonable excuse to have put it there.  “The point being, old friend, that you can indeed verify whether or not a set of Batmobile blueprints is genuine.  You know how it works.  You’ve studied it.”

“And what’s his stake in all this?” Edward asked, folding his hands into his lap.  His right arm was almost alongside Jonathan’s, but not quite.  “It was fairly obvious you were the one to sign up with, but why bother?”

“The world’s most annoying grudge,” Jonathan sighed.  “Tiresome, really.  He doesn’t shut up – much like you, by the way – but it is always the _exact same thing_ and it is extremely boring.  At least _you_ have _two_ topics of interest.”

“I do – “

“Riddles,” Jonathan cut in a second time, “and things that _aren’t_ riddles.”

Edward heaved the world’s most dramatic sigh and shook his head as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose with the gloved hand… which was most telling.  “Why do I put up with this.”

Sometimes Jonathan himself wasn’t sure.  But it wasn’t the time for that.  “The blueprints are in the back of the drawer over there,” he told Edward instead, indicating a desk in the corner that he had piled some equipment and papers on top of.  “You can keep them, if you like.  I have no use for them.  I’m sure you can… improve on them in some way.”

By the way Edward’s leg tensed under his fingers, he would have been very happy to have looked at the blueprints that second, but Jonathan wasn’t quite finished.  “In any case, this Arkham Knight appears to have worked quite closely with the Batman and had access to most, if not all, of his armoury.  He has promised full specifications on all of Batman’s gadgetry, all of which are yours when he delivers them to me.  I’m sure you have working mockups of most of it, judging by the construction of many of your traps, but I’m sure having the original designs in your hands will be of some benefit to you.”

Edward nodded minutely, probably already thinking about what he was going to do with them.  Jonathan squeezed his leg to get his attention.  “Do you see, Edward?  I never took you for granted.  I just needed you to be _patient_.  I wanted to wait until I had everything organised beforehand, that was all.”  He couldn’t help but chide a little as he continued, “I wish you had been able to wait a little longer.”

“Surprises aren’t my favourite thing,” Edward admitted.  He folded his hands together again.  “Is that all you wanted?  Those blueprints verified?”

“No,” Jonathan answered.  “I need a new injector gauntlet.  The Knight has gathered an elite army of highly skilled soldiers and he is training them in the Bat’s ways as we speak.  He will be bringing the commanders to me for their briefing by the end of the week.”

“Fine.  I will drop everything I have to do and build you a new one within the next two days.  Any more impossible requests?”

“More of a… specification,” Jonathan said, bringing his hand back into his own lap.  He hadn’t been looking forward to admitting the next part.  “It needs to be more… robust.  But lighter.  I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Of course it is,” Edward scoffed.  “Easily.  You’ve never been one for artfully designed equipment, even when I’m the one making it for you.  Why the change of heart?”

“I’ve been experiencing some... weakness in that wrist,” Jonathan managed to admit.  “I would appreciate some additional support.  That’s all.”

“Say no more,” Edward told him, and he gripped Jonathan’s shoulder with the hand nearest.  “It will not only do that, but it will be the most comfortable thing you own.”

“What a relief.  I never would have bothered putting it on if I thought it was going to be _uncomfortable_.”

“And while we’re all tiring out the Detective for you, you’re doing what?”

“Dispersing an aerosol toxin.  Using some...” Jonathan shook his head.  “It’s a very powerful distribution system.  I can cover the entire city in seconds.  Gas masks are useless.  No one will be safe.  Anyone not above or below the dispersal cloud will be trapped in the uncontrollable grip of fear.”  He could not _wait_ to see it.  Excitement began to tighten his chest and he forced himself to regain control.  He had to remain absolutely focused on the journey before he could allow himself to fantasize about the outcome.  There were still many, many things to do.  “I don’t have the system as of yet.  The owner is requiring almost as much cajoling as he is payment.  And then it needs to be charged before it can be put into use.  It’s all very time-consuming.” 

“So you hired a bunch of guys and found a way out of paying them.  And they don’t know about it. You know…”  He shook his head.  “Never fails to surprise me that they think we’re going to look out for them just because we said we’d pay them.”

“You would have thought they’d learned by now,” Jonathan agreed, “but as I understand it they aren’t really agreeing to answer to me.  To the Knight, yes.  That’s fine.  As long as _he_ answers to me, what the hired help is doing is not of my concern.  It’s all merely distractions, anyway.  And… Edward.”

“Mm?”  Edward put his hand on the table, using the arm as support as he shifted to face Jonathan.

“Afterward… I’m done.  I’ve had enough of this.  I’m going to have my revenge and then I’m leaving.  I don’t know where quite yet.  It came to mind that you might… have some ideas.”

Placing his hand over Edward’s caused him more anxiety than anything else had in many, many years.

“Of course,” Edward said, and Jonathan realised his eyes had lost a little of the wildness he’d seen when he first entered the room.  Jonathan had often wondered at the activity inside of his head, the endless rushing chaos that must have accompanied a mind that remembered everything and saw it all as a puzzle to be solved.  It must have been a terrible struggle to control at times.  But he was controlling it now.

“I’m tired of it,” Jonathan said quietly.  “It has gone on far too long.  This will be the culmination and then it will be over.  And you… you already had your victory.  Surely you feel the same… that it becomes more chore than anything else?” 

Edward looked away.

It did, but he didn’t want to admit it.  His ego often got the better of him in such a way; it wasn’t enough to win once.  It was something he always had to do.  But Jonathan understood well that a game lost its lustre after being played one too many times.

There was a tap on the door and Jonathan glared at it in irritation.  He was _busy_ , wasn’t that _obvious_?

“Dr Crane?”

“What is it?” he snapped.

“The Knight says he’s coming here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Fine.  I told him I didn’t want any of that today, but it seems he has overridden my request.  I will meet him shortly.”

Edward slid off the table and offered Jonathan his arm.  That puzzled him for a moment, until he realised Edward meant to help him stand.  He grasped it a little hesitantly – his ill health was extremely obvious, but he still didn’t like to outright admit to it -  and couldn’t quite hold back a wince as fresh pain tore through his leg.  Edward had wanted to build something different, something he had said would take as much pressure off of it as possible, but Jonathan had insisted on continuing to wear the one Edward had cobbled together on short notice, a long time ago.  Sometimes he even admitted to himself what a terrible idea that had been.  He would have Edward build it after this was all over and they had gone someplace far away from here.  Canada, perhaps. 

 He watched as Edward procured the blueprints from the drawer and put them into his back pocket, smoothing his shirt over them.  When he stood in front of Jonathan again he had his thumbs tucked casually into his belt loops.  Jonathan would have done it anyway, but the open posture was reassurance that Edward was perfectly fine with his stepping forward and taking him in his arms at long last. 

Edward’s skin was scented with grease and the remains of cologne applied several days before, the hair he threaded his fingers through did not encounter the fine cleanliness they were used to, and having him so close made clear just how much thinner he had become.  But his arms, muscled as they were through his admirably hard work, were sure and strong as ever around his waist, and he still carried the same warmth.  Jonathan had been cold as long as he could remember.  His whole life seemed to have been encased in a frigid sort of fog, as though it originated from somewhere inside of himself.  But Edward defied that.  He always exuded warmth and energy and excitement in ways that Jonathan no longer could.  He could touch those things through Edward and, though he did not miss them – or believed that he didn’t – he was not ungrateful to feel them again.

Jonathan had to pull back first, knowing that Edward never did; he didn’t want to, but being caught like that would potentially start rumours he didn’t have time to address and make Jonathan’s job that much harder.  Which reminded him of something, but he wasn’t certain what that was.

“I’ll bring the gauntlet by the deadline,” Edward said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “and I’ll let you know if I think these blueprints are real.”

When he reached for the door handle, Jonathan remembered.  “Edward,” he called out.  “Wait.”  He gestured to the recorder on the table when Edward turned back.  “I need a bit more of a conversation between us.  On the off chance someone requires proof of your allegiance.”       

“Very well,” Edward said.  “Continue appealing to my ego, then, Dr Crane.”

Jonathan had to smile at that.  Perhaps another day, he really would.

He slid it on with as much care as possible, but the roughness of the mask still rasped against his skin.  It would pass, but for now it merely made him irritated.  Just one more annoyance in a life simply full of them.  He pulled the hood back over his head and turned to Edward, drawing breath to speak.  By the time he had enough on the tape he was thankfully beginning to feel the softness Edward lent him begin to fade.  He didn’t mind it when Edward was the sole witness, but new things needed to be attended to and weakness had no part in them.  The habitual cold was settling in his chest and Edward was markedly irritated by the conversation he            had had no control over.  He was glad to leave, Jonathan could read through his posture; he’d had enough of Jonathan’s machinations, even though in truth they weren’t real.  As he stepped towards the threshold the Knight came through it, all gleaming armour and displayed technology.  Edward glanced back at Jonathan, his upper lip curling in a distaste Jonathan shared.  The Knight had no presence, no aura, not like _they_ did.  They all had their preferred accoutrements, but they did not _need_ them.  They were merely accents, the finishing touches on what they were beneath.  This so-called Arkham Knight _had_ no presence, tried to camouflage his lack of power beneath a suit rife with gadgetry and a voice disguised and items that were barely more than bribery, and they knew it.  And he thought perhaps Edward could see, then, that it didn’t _matter_ who was underneath the armour.  He was not important, was no more than yet another misguided imitator who thought he knew Gotham better than they did.  Thought he knew _anything_ better than they did.  But he didn’t, and so his identity didn’t matter except as some passing bit of trivia.  They would let him play his part and let him fade back into the darkness he’d stepped from, and they would go on as they always had, and he would never, ever be one of them.

“Scraping things up from the bottom of the bay again, Crane?” Edward sneered, chin tilted in indignation.  “There aren’t enough morons looking to make a quick buck that you had to find one who thinks he’s Colour-Change Batman?”

“I bid you _dismissed_ , Mr Nygma,” Jonathan said coolly, though he took no offense.  The Knight’s uniform was quite obviously based upon Batman’s own, which had initially put Jonathan off considerably.  “I suggest you continue on your way before I am forced to do something presently unnecessary.”

"You're a has-been, Nygma," the Knight said disdainfully, arms crossed.  Trying to physically intimidate the Riddler, who had long since accepted his smaller stature.  For someone who claimed to have worked closely with Batman, the Knight seemed to know little about his enemies.  "Batman never considered you a threat.  He only plays your games because he feels sorry for you."

Edward's response to this was an airy laugh.  "Do you really think you're the first person to tell me that?  What a shallow attempt at undermining me!  Don't you worry, I know the truth: you wanted to be Batman when you grew up and he wouldn't let you.  Poor lost little boy, thinking he can protect his broken heart in the best Bat-style armour money can buy.  _I_ almost feel sorry for _you_!"

And with that, Edward fairly sailed out of the room, none the different, and Jonathan sorely wanted to laugh when the Knight did nothing but glare in the direction he had gone.  He couldn't, of course, so he settled for turning around and hiding the smile that crossed his face by pretending he needed to do something with the recorder left on the table.  They had no way of knowing just how close Edward had come to the truth, of course, but it seemed to have been fairly close.

"I told you to leave Mr Nygma alone," Jonathan admonished a minute later. "And that I do not care for your opinion on him.  I find him useful, and if you antagonise him I may lose a considerable resource.  He has free reign to do as he sees fit, and you and your militia are _not_ to disturb him."

"He's unpredictable," the Knight argued for the third time.  They were having this argument for a _third time_.  Perhaps Jonathan needed to take a page from Edward's book and begin employing only robots. 

"I am not discussing this again.  Leave him alone."

When he finally got the insufferable buffoon to leave - after yet another irritating stream of complaints about Batman and how the Knight needed to be the one to put a bullet in his armoured head - Jonathan sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk with both physical and mental relief.  Irritation took its toll on his body, and the Knight was more irritating than almost anyone else he'd ever known. He allowed himself for one minute to imagine that Edward had had the Knight's resources and that they had just taken on the Bat together.  But no; Edward had to remain his shadowy associate and the Knight the face of the operation. 

He played the tape on the desk merely because he wasn't quite ready to get up but didn't want to sit idly.  When he came to the first break in their conversation, he smiled to himself.  Edward would be back in two days, eager and excited to relate to Jonathan the contents of the blueprints, and though he wouldn't really understand what he was saying he would listen nonetheless, because Edward had a passion for knowledge that Jonathan quite frankly believed had been lost on the next generation.  Then he would show Edward his latest toxin, and it would be such a _pleasure_ to describe it to someone who understood what an achievement it was!  Understood the _beauty_ of it! Perhaps then Jonathan would take him to Simon Stagg's dirigible, and show him the Cloudburst and all of the other technological extravagances the silly man had up there, and Edward would take in all of it with such happiness and wonder that Jonathan would leave him to it.  He would simply enjoy watching Edward indulge his untouched childlike nature.  He would then perhaps take Edward to the installations the militia were beginning to build, and let him take a look at the tanks they had constructed and the watchtowers they had installed.  Edward would talk endlessly, providing advice and critique Jonathan would not ask for, but would note carefully because this was an area Edward was well versed in and of which Jonathan knew nothing.  At the end of it they would return to Jonathan's base and sit outside.  Jonathan would bring Edward a hot chocolate and himself a coffee, and they would sit outside and Edward would talk as they overlooked the Gotham City skyline that their combined force would soon have obtained.  As Edward began to tire Jonathan would take over the speaking, his voice low and smooth to lull Edward to sleep against his shoulder.  Jonathan would have to resist the urge to frighten him awake merely to amuse himself, telling himself to instead savour the rhythmic breathing of the warm and trusting body against him.  And perhaps Jonathan would sleep then; perhaps he would find peace in this man's company as he had done years before. 

And for as long as possible that day, Jonathan would not wear the mask, and Edward would look upon his face and neither flinch nor avert his eyes.  He would look at Jonathan with a respect he had been given by no other.  A respect given to him, Jonathan, and not the Scarecrow.  To the man beneath the trappings whose name was used only as an insult save for by Edward, who used it to refer to his friend.

But that was another day.  Perhaps.  It was equally likely that they would argue upon meeting, that Edward would become increasingly agitated and vocal as Jonathan settled into a chilling calm that was able to disturb even himself.  But the former scenario... he looked forward to that. He would try to achieve that.

For now, though, the day needed to be drawn to a close: he had to find something to eat that was hopefully somewhat palatable and did not carry the taste of dust as far too much did now; he had to make the effort to wash up, though it was extraordinarily painful and he felt averse to doing it even just thinking about it; he had to lie down for a few hours and at least try to rest, knowing the wreck of his body would prevent that into the sunrise hours.  He sighed and stood slowly, bracing himself with his right hand against the desktop.  There was a shooting pain followed by the tingling.  He switched hands sharply and folded the free one closed.  Edward would bring the new gauntlet in two days as well.  Hopefully it would help.  He supposed he could just put it on the other arm and try not to use his right, but no; that would raise questions and his handedness was decidedly not left.

He moved carefully around the desk, guided by his fingertips there, working his joints back into use with caution.  Oh, he was too old for all of this.  Too old to be chasing down armoured crazies or indeed putting on grand spectacles at all, even though he was not doing any of the leg work.  His taste for it was more or less lost, now.  He would remind Edward of their tentative plans when this was all over.  He would take some convincing - he always did, whether he succeeded or he failed - but he would listen and they would disappear.  Jonathan would collate his research and Edward would no doubt find something suitably devious and dubiously legal to do. 

 _Enough of that!_ he chides himself.  He thought too much of a future long in the distance.  He had a city to bring to its knees and a Bat to exact vengeance upon.  Focus at this juncture was essential.  He had to gather every resource imaginable to carry it all out.  He had not the margin for distraction. 

He took a focusing breath and returned to his work.

 

**Author’s note**

**According to the easter eggs for Arkham City, the Riddler quite probably rescued and took care of Scarecrow until he was able to take care of himself.  Either they had quite a deal going on there, or they were BFFs.**

**Scarecrow’s gauntlet is markedly larger in Arkham Knight, and though this could be chalked up to him being bulked up in general, I like to imagine it was because his wrist was giving him issues.**

**Those are the only two lines I remember at all from the Arkham Knight tapes, so whatever else happened in the recordings I forget.  It should still work the way I wrote it because if you’re fake-arguing you can say pretty much anything.**


End file.
